


United by Team, Driven by Passion

by KaliopeShipsIt



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Derek Has Issues, Evil Kate Argent, First Time, Football/Soccer!AU, Hate Crimes, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-02-04 17:13:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1786825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaliopeShipsIt/pseuds/KaliopeShipsIt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale is the star forward of the US soccer team and about to sign a huge marketing deal. The World Cup in Brazil is his chance to prove to his countrymen that soccer is just as valid and manly a sport as American football and he is determined to make his country proud.</p><p>Stiles Stilinski used to be one of the lesser-known defensive midfield players, but after a drunken tweet the night before the opening ceremony, he’s not only proud of representing his country in the tournament, but also officially out and proud.<br/>His outing complicates a lot of things – the atmosphere within the team, his safety on and off the field … and his formerly easy-going relationship with Derek, the team’s captain.<br/>Although unknown to Stiles, the reason is fairly simple: Derek Hale can be proud – but he will never be out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not put my stuff on Goodreads. I was not aware that part of my stories were on there and I am not comfortable with having my fan fics circulated out of my control. 
> 
>  
> 
> The slogan of the US soccer team this year was begging for a fan fiction. Begging, I tell ya! I therefore take no credit for the title of this story ;-).
> 
> There's going to be some dark stuff in here, so proceed with caution.
> 
> Oh and on a lighter P.S-Note: although it pains my European heart to do so, I will refer to football as soccer throughout this fic, since it is written out of the perspective of Americans.
> 
> If you do catch a 'football' in here, I probably meant soccer if it isn't accompanied by the word 'American'. Old habits die hard.

“Scotty?” Stiles croaks when he wakes up in the morning, blinking against the sunlight glaring into his eyes and trying to piece the events of the last night back together.

He has a feeling he has done something monumentally stupid – the roughly 300 missed calls on his phone, most of which are from unknown numbers, and 50 text messages certainly seem to indicate he did.

His best friend and teammate is sitting on the armchair facing the bed and looking like he has to tell Stiles his puppy has died.

“Stiles,” he sighs and the resigned tone in his voice is enough to jumpstart Stiles’ memory.

It’s not pleasant. At all.

“Scotty,” Stiles groans, grabbing a pillow and pushing it into his face.

“Please tell I did not do what I think I did last night,” he mumbles into the pillow, although the bad feeling in his gut tells him that yep, he did exactly that.

“I can’t really hear you if you are drowning yourself in a pillow, but if the question you just asked me was ‘Scott, my best and most trusted friend, did you fail me last night by not stopping my drunken self from outing myself on Twitter?’ then yes, that’s exactly what happened.”

When Stiles throws the pillow against the wall in frustration Scott looks devastated.

“I’m so sorry man. I knew you were getting kind of tipsy there, but I swear, I had no idea it was already this bad.”

Stiles groans.

“Cupcake’s gonna _kill_ me,” he moans, before another, even more frightening realization hits him.

“Derek – Derek is gonna _kill_ me!”

Scott sighs. “That is a very likely scenario, yes. I think they will team up actually, one will kill you, the other will hide the body.”

Stiles laughs, but it’s a shaky laugh. He doesn’t really know how else to react, considering he just outed himself to the world one night before the beginning of the Soccer World Cup, a sport that, much like any other professional sport in the country and in the rest of the world is not known for its friendly climate for gay players.

At all.

“Cupcake’s going to kick me off the team. I will never be able to look my dad in the eyes again – he’s been gloating about the World Cup to his colleagues for months. He bought at least 200 of the Soccer Team Sticker-Collection Snickers Bars until he had enough stickers of me that he could start handing them out to all of his deputies. Now I’m going to be kicked off the team and he will have clogged up his arteries with all that sugar for nothing,” Stiles laments and Scott sighs.

“I don’t think Coach is going to kick you off the team. It’s not like he didn’t suspect it,” Scott rubs his eyes wearily and Stiles squeaks.

“What do you mean, he suspected it?”

Scott grimaces. “Well, he did quote _Brokeback Mountain_ to you the other day, you know, when you were mouthing off during training to release some tension and he tore at his hair and huffed “I wish I knew how to quit you!””

Stiles pales. “I thought he meant quitting in terms of kicking me off the team. He’s been threatening it at least every other day ever since I joined,” he mumbles, his face growing more and more ashen until he suddenly lurches off the bed and barely makes it to the bathroom.

Scott dutifully opens the windows while Stiles develops a profound bond with the fancy toilet bowl in the even fancier hotel the team is staying at during the competition.

He’s in the middle of telling it the Top 10 of his Greatest Mistakes in Life – the one where he got drunk five days before their first big game in the tournament and accidentally outed himself on Twitter being the uncontested number one – when there’s a loud banging sound at the door.

It fits the banging sound behind Stiles’ temples and he briefly wonders if he could actually drown himself in the toilet bowl, before deciding against it.

He won’t give Derek Hale the satisfaction.

He can hear Scott opening the door and before Stiles can react, Coach Cupcake – Bobby Finstock to anyone who has never hacked into his email account – grabs him by the ears and drags him out of the bathroom.

“Stilinski!” he yells at him, pushing him down into the armchair and standing before him like some sort of biblical avenging angel. 

“What the _hell_ did you think you were doing last night? Drinking! Five days before the big game! Is this a joke to you? You know the rules! No sex, no drugs, no drinking, no rock and roll! I cannot believe you! This is an outrage!”

Stiles blinks in confusion.

“Uhm – Coach?” he says hesitantly, waiting for the other shoe to drop. As is usually the case with Bobby Finstock, it doesn’t.

“Don’t just say “uhm” Stilinski, unless the alcohol has killed every last of your brain cells, of which you didn’t seem to possess enough in the first place seeing how you got _drunk_ five days before our first game!”

“No brain, I know, but Coach … I think I outed myself last night. I’m sorry?”

Stiles flinches, partly because he hates that he has to apologize for being himself and partly because he’s expecting the Coach to fly into another fit of rage.

Finstock rolls his eyes.

“Yes, and I like it when women fondle my ears and call me cupcake! I don’t give a rat’s ass about where you put your penis, Stilinski. Unless they change the rules that players can now kick the ball with their penis, your dick and what it does when it’s off the field is like the least important thing to me on the planet! What I care about is that you reek of alcohol and got _drunk_! Five nights before the game! Five!”

Scott gasps in surprise and Stiles is sure his own face mirrors his best friend’s shock.

“It’s – probably going to be a problem. I kind of have like 300 missed phone calls already,” Stiles says and the Coach waves his hands as if he was trying to scare away a fly.

“It’s _your_ problem and I’m sure you and your big mouth will handle it admirably,” Finstock corrects him with a grim expression.

“Not mine. _My_ problem is that my players are getting _drunk_ five nights before a big game. And if anyone even so much as tries to make it _my_ problem, I’ll have an answer they won’t like!” he grunts, his voice sounding exasperated and extremely annoyed and Stiles suddenly has to blink back tears.

He knows Finstock realizes what this could mean for Stiles, what it could mean for his position in the team, his position on the field, hell, his media exposure, and it’s his own special way of telling Stiles that he has his back.

“That being said,” Finstock continues, his eyes softening for just the tiniest bit before the sympathetic expression is replaced by anger, “if you get drunk again you are _out_ of this team _and_ the closet. I don’t know what prompted you to do this and I am going to assume you had a damn good reason, but consider this your first and final strike. I won’t give you another chance,” he says and Stiles nods miserably.

“Got it Coach,” he promises and Finstock huffs, before turning to Scott.

“McCall! Why aren’t you dressed and halfway done with your breakfast?” he barks and Scott scrambles out of the door quicker than an over-excited puppy.

The Coach follows him but before he leaves, he turns around one more time, the expression on his face torn between exasperation and grim amusement.

“Oh and Stilinski – just as a head’s up: Hale read the news this morning and now he is _very_ grumpy – even more so than he normally is I mean. You’ve been warned.”

Stiles swears he can hear Finstock’s evil chuckling all the way down the hall as he drops his head into his hands and groans.

If he hadn’t gotten the call last night that his first high school boyfriend was beaten to a bloody pulp because he had the audacity to hold hands with his husband in public he probably wouldn’t have gotten drunk and outed himself, a step he’s been thinking about basically ever since he joined the national soccer team three years ago

But – in a way – he is grateful that his secret has finally been revealed. It helped that he could be himself with Scott, his oldest and closest friend, but living in secrecy, as if he was ashamed, has been brutal on his psyche.

He isn’t stupid, he knows that there will be a backlash; he knows that he will have to be careful on the field. Attitudes towards homosexuals in soccer are abysmally bad and there’s no telling how the players of the other teams will respond. Not the mention their more violent fans.

It’s worth it though, Stiles decides. After all, security at the World Cup is so high that nothing is going to happen to him and he can deal with a little bit of rough-housing. It’s a comparatively small price to pay for finally being able to breathe again.

His thoughts turn to Derek Hale and his breath catches in his throat.

Derek is maybe the only real problem Stiles is going to be facing in the next couple of weeks.

Derek Hale, the star forward, desperately handsome and chiefly responsible for the fact that there is much more media attention on their team this year than during previous World Cups.

Stiles still can’t get over the fact that the man was on the cover of Vogue, he just can’t.

Hale’s got everything the media could dream of – a mildly tragic past, his breathtakingly good looks, and his over-the-top displays of national pride. Not to mention his mission to prove to everyone and their mother that soccer is just as manly as American football, even if they have less muscle mass and get much more penalties if they tackle each other.

Derek is very manly. From the stubble on his chin to his broad chest down to his very impressive package, which Stiles might or might not have checked out in detail the other week. It wasn’t his fault though, after all, where else was he supposed to look when Derek marched up to his favorite bench in the locker room and started berating him for supposedly making a weak pass to Jackson.

He had been fresh out of the shower, water running down his naked torso and his dick, also very naked, had been swinging right in front of Stiles’ nose. He had found it a tad rude. He had also found it a tad hot and he would have totally jerked off to the image that night if Hale weren’t such a homophobic asshole.

Which, really, is Stiles’ main problem here. He’s never been able to verify his theory about Hale a hundred percent, because he’s usually pretty silent and grumpy when he is not barking criticism at people, but from every snide remark, every judgmental glance, and every twitch of his gorgeous face over the past years Stiles has concluded that the man might not hate-hate homosexuals, but deeply dislikes them nevertheless.

He’s pretty sure it’s not a religious thing, Hale doesn’t strike him as the type, which in a way makes it worse, because it means that there’s some dumb macho-reasoning behind it, probably coupled with a healthy dose of fear that every single last gay man in the world is out to get a good grab of Hale’s deliciously round and perky ass.

Well, he and his perfect ass certainly won’t have to fear Stiles, who considers hateful, ignorant douchbaggery a massive turn-off.

He’s also reasonably sure that Hale won’t attack him physically, but the rest of the team listens to him and there’s no telling what players like Matt or Ennis are going to do if prompted in the right direction.

Basically, Stiles’ position in the team depends on how Derek is going to respond to his outing and any positive hopes on the matter are utterly and completely dashed when he finally shuffles down to join his teammates at breakfast and is met by stony silence.

His eyes seek out Derek’s and he actually takes a step back.

Stiles finally has his answer to the question of just how homophobic Derek Hale really is, and it couldn’t have come at a worse point in time.

Derek looks at him and Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever been hated more in his life.

It’s going to be a horrible tournament.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Team plays today! Go Team!

By the end of breakfast Stiles has 57 more missed calls on his phone, but he only answers the one that really matters.

“I can’t decide whether to be proud of you or feel responsible because I accidentally let you fall off that changing table that one time when you were 18 months old,” his father says when he picks up and Stiles laughs softly, amazed at how much better he already feels just because he’s hearing his dad’s voice.

“You always did warn me about drinking,” Stiles admits sheepishly and his father groans.

“Five days before the first game, _really_? I’m not even talking about your coming-out, although I will say that you could have timed it – _better_ ,” his father grunts and Stiles sighs, rubbing his still aching temples.

“I know Dad, believe me, I know. It was as if I had just walked into a freezer down at breakfast.”

His dad’s voice immediately switches to concern.

“Those guys aren’t giving you a hard time, are they? They know your dad is a Sheriff, right?” he says and Stiles laughs softly.

“Don’t worry Dad, Scotty was born ready to defend my honor. And besides, we’ve all got to focus on the game, me being gay is not going to change that.”

His father sighs, clearly not convinced.

“Do you want me to change my flight so I can come earlier? I know I was supposed to get there in four days, but if you need my support I could …”

“I’m fine Dad,” Stiles says quickly, aware that his father is probably looking up the number of the airline right now.

“Coach has decided we can’t have any distractions, so you wouldn’t be able to get near me anyways. Unless I want to piss Cupcake off even more than I already did.”

“Cupcake – oh please son, don’t tell me you are dating your Coach. It’s not that I’d mind that he’s older … wait I would mind that actually, he’s almost as old as me after all, but don’t you think that would turn this into an even bigger scandal if the press got a hold of it?”

Stiles snorts.

“Oh my god, Dad! Of course not! Ugh. Besides, I don’t have an ear-fetish.”

“That’s … good to know, I guess?” Sheriff Stilinski says, sounding equal parts pained and amused.

“Listen Dad, I’m so sorry but I have to go, we are about to leave for the training camp and if I’m late Derek is probably going to actually kill me. I think he’s planning a sneaky way to do it even as we speak, so this is definitely a concern,” he says, trying to sound cheerful but failing miserably.

“That homophobic model-wannabe giving you trouble?” a female voice rings out from the background and Stiles feels even better.

“Hey Lyds, how long have you been listening?” he asks and Lydia snorts.

“Don’t ask dumb questions – answer my smart ones instead. Is he giving you trouble? I will come down there myself and castrate him for you!” she threatens darkly and Stiles grins, grabbing his sports bag and jogging after Scott, who’s been waving to him for at least a minute.

“He hates me,” Stiles says, wincing when he bangs his shoulder against the revolving doors.

“But that’s not a surprise to me, I always figured he would be the type,” he continues, ignoring the judgmental glare of the very same guy he is talking about as he climbs into the bus and drops down next to Scott.

“He’s an asshole and if he makes your life miserable, I will end him,” Lydia declares and Stiles smiles widely. He knows her well enough to be certain she’ll find a way to do _something_ to Derek Hale, even if it is only something trivial as arranging for all of his underwear to be dyed pink.

It would go well with his bronze skin and green eyes so really, he should be grateful to them.

“I love you Lyds. You too Dad,” he says instead, sighing when he sees the Coach step into the bus.

“Listen, I have to go, Cupcake’s about to give a speech and from the looks of it it’ll be about me, can’t miss that,” he says and his father groans.

“Son, I really would feel less uncomfortable if you’d stop calling the man Cupcake. He’s the least cupcakey person I have ever met!” he says and Stiles grins, whispering a quick “Later,” into the phone before hanging up.

When the bus starts rolling toward their training base, Finstock grabs the mike and gives them all a hard stare.

“So,” he begins, his eyes lingering on Stiles for just a fraction of a second.

“I am certain that all of you read the news this morning. Some of you may have even gotten phone calls from the press. A select few of you – and yes, I’m talking to you Greenberg – might have even answered these phone calls and made a statement. I will only say this once – our motto is United by Team, Driven by Passion, we will not – and I repeat – _not_ throw our team mates to the wolves because of their private lives. We are a team and our passion is soccer, and that’s what we are here for. All of us. Together. United. Driven. By passion.”

“Isn’t it funny how if you take away the p and the ion passion actually becomes ass? Some of us are definitely driven by p-ass-ion – passion for ass-action that is!”

Stiles doesn’t even have to turn around to know who just spoke up.

The Coach’s expression darkens.

“One more word Ennis and I’ll bench you for the entire tournament!” he grits out and even though Ennis snorts, he remains silent.

Stiles is suddenly very uncomfortable about the fact that Ennis is also a defensive midfield player.

Scott grabs his knee in a gesture of support and Stiles pats his hand briefly before gently prying his fingers away. There is no use in having the others think Scott and him are gay for each other.

 

============

 

The rest of the short bus ride is silent and when they get to the camp Stiles is the first in and out of the locker room, determined to avoid the inevitable locker-room ogling confrontation for as long as humanly possible.

Training goes by far too quickly and Stiles is exhausted by the end, not only because of his still restless mind, but also because he’s really sore.

It’s not the good kind of sore but the kind of sore you get if someone – say, Matt Daehler – kicks a ball against your tailbone and then pretends it was an accident.

Coach didn’t notice and Stiles isn’t about to go tattle to him – he’s also trying to avoid the misogynist/homophobic girl jokes for as long as possible – but yeah, it hurt. On multiple levels.

Scott is waiting for him when he gets to the showers and winces in sympathy when Stiles quickly strips out of his jersey, putting his quickly bruising tailbone at full display.

“Looks like you took a good pounding Stilinski,” Ennis mutters as he walks past him his eyes challenging him to reply as he slowly strips off his shirt and then his shorts, standing in front of Stiles in only his jockstrap.

Stiles knows where this is going, so he turns around briskly, staring at the wall in stony silence and refusing to acknowledge Ennis behind him.

“What’s up Stilinski? Don’t you want to take a look? Isn’t that what guys like you do?”

“One step closer and I’ll report you for sexual harassment,” Scott hisses and Ennis barks out a sharp laugh.

“How touching – one could almost think you are defending your lover. Are you, McCall? Are you?”

Scott rolls his eyes so hard they look like they are seriously in danger of falling out of his eye sockets.

“Grow up,” he mutters under his breath, turning around and focusing on his shower.

“Come on Ennis, let’s wait until they are done. You don’t want to shower next to … that,” a new voice rings out and it’s filled with so much disgust and hatred that Stiles cringes despite his best efforts.

Ennis laughs again. “You betcha Captain,” he snorts and Stiles holds his breath until he hears the doors to the showers slam shut.

 

===============

 

“This is  … harder than I thought. I knew it was coming, but somehow, a part of me … I just hoped they wouldn’t,” he admits quietly to Scott when they are back at the hotel and Scott sighs.

“You haven’t even seen the press coverage yet,” he says and Stiles flops down onto his bed, feeling utterly defeated.

“Do I want to?” he asks and Scott shakes his head.

“No. But I’d rather you get an overview now before someone spits at you on the field or holds up some hate banner or something,” he says.

Stiles can’t fault his logic. It might even work as a desensitization strategy.

Five minutes on the Internet later he’s been exposed to all the desensitization he can deal with.

Headlines range from jubilantly supportive to downright disgusting, including

_First Openly Gay Soccer Player in the World Cup – Now What About Hottie Hale?_ ( **Perez Hilton,** predictably)

_First Upset at the World Cup Occurs Before Games Actually Begin_ ( **Fox News** )

_Stilinski Comes Out One Day Before World Cup Begins - Will the Team Come Out and Surprise us by Actually Advancing Past the Group Stage?_ ( **Huff Post** )

_Stilinski Outing Causes Heated Debate_ ( **CNN)**

_Stilinski Outs Himself One Day Before the Cup – a Misplaced Political Statement?_ ( **ABC)**

_Who Is This Stiles Stilinski Anyway And Why Do We Care About His Junk? On That Note, Why Do We Care About Soccer?_ ( **The Onion** )

and Stiles’ favorite one, _Soccer – Not Only a Communist Sport but also a Cesspool of Sodomy_ ( **TheBlaze** ), which is only equaled in stupidity by the Christian Broadcasting Network’s Pat Robertson wringing his hands and declaring the recent floods in South Brazil God’s punishment for Brazilian Carnival and a Sodomite Orgy masquerading as a Sports Tournament.

For a moment he’s tempted to check out if the Phelpses in Topeka already put up a “God Hates Stiles Stilinski” Website but then decides he doesn’t even want to know.

There’s more, so much more, including lots of hurtful comments from the nation’s right-wingers, some extremely disturbing gifs and memes and even a petition to put Stiles down like the dog that he is, but he decides to ignore that, having expected nothing less from the crazies.

“Well?” Scott asks hesitantly and Stiles shrugs.

“I expected as much. I’m fine, Scotty, really, I can deal. As long as no one of our own team tries to brain me on the field, I can handle this.”

“You won’t have to handle it alone,” Scott says somberly and Stiles is once again fiercely grateful to have him in his life.

He’s about to respond when there’s a hesitant knock on the door and both men tense up.

Scott slowly stands up to open it, his shoulders squared as if he is ready for an attack and Stiles breathes a sigh of relief when Danny, their goalkeeper, pokes his head inside.

“Can I come in for a second?” he asks and Scott crosses his arms.

“That depends. Are you here to bully my best friend?” he asks and Danny shakes his head.

“Nope. The opposite actually,” he says and Scott lets him in, although his arms are still crossed over his chest.

Stiles looks at Danny in confusion when he sits down on one of the chairs, looking nervous and uncomfortable.

Most of their interactions up until this point have had to do with Danny yelling orders or insults at him from his goal post – the latter usually when the defense messes up and the other team gets too close.

“Hi,” Stiles says awkwardly and Danny attempts a crooked smile, which falls relatively flat.

“Today in the shower –that was wrong. Derek should have put a stop to it,” Danny finally says and Scott snorts.

“It’s not just Derek who can stand up to Ennis you know,” he says in a meaningful way and Danny shrugs.

“Yeah, well – when you’re in the glasshouse, throwing stones is a little difficult sometimes.”

Stiles gapes at him.

“Hold on, what? Are you …?”

Danny blushes.

“Not exclusively – and it’s been a while – but I experimented during my teenage years, yes.”

He looks at Stiles and his eyes are full of compassion.

“I don’t judge you at all and I don’t think it’s disgusting. I know it doesn’t mean much, but please know that I won’t agree with any of the insults the other guys are going to throw at you. I just – I can’t say anything, you know?” he says and Stiles frowns.

“I appreciate it – I guess? But why are you telling me this, if you don’t plan to do anything anyways?” he says slowly and Danny blushes again.

“I just – I know what it feels like to be hated, you know, my father put a stop to my experiments with a pretty hard fist, told me I’d never make it in professional soccer if people knew I was a part-time pansy. I just wanted you to know that I don’t judge you – and neither does Jackson.”

“Huh?” Scott exclaims and Stiles’ eyebrows rise even higher.

“Is that so?” he says and Danny nods.

“He’s my best friend, you know? There’s nothing he doesn’t know about me and he’s cool with me and what I like, so he’s going to be cool with you.”

“He hates my guts and can’t stand my babbling,” Stiles points out and Danny laughs.

“Well, yeah. But apart from that he’s totally cool with you.”

Stiles manages a weak grin.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any secret intelligence on Derek being cool with it as well?” he asks and Danny’s face clouds with anger.

“Derek’s an asshole who’d better not come too close to either you or me,” he says grimly and suddenly the rivalry between Jackson and Derek, which has actually made it into the tabloids, makes much more sense.

“Jackson’s looking out for you, isn’t he? That’s why he and Derek clash all the time, right?” he says and Danny shrugs.

“Jackson hates homophobes just as much as me,” he replies and well, Stiles has to agree with him there.

Danny’s almost out of the door when he stops and turns around again, his expression suddenly soft.

“I wish I would have had your courage – you know, back then? My life would have been very different,” he muses, giving Stiles a last contemplative smile before he walks into the hallway.

“You could totally tap that,” Scott remarks into the ensuing silence and Stiles throws a pillow at his head.

“I love you Scotty, I do, but you really are a doofus.”

“I’m just saying – the headlines would be incredible. _Stilinski is Defending His Goal Post Alright_ , or something like that.”

He makes a satisfying oof-sound when Stiles lunges up and drags him onto the bed to engage him in a heated pillow fight. Not that that’s a regular thing they do, but he suddenly feels like it.

He doesn’t realize the door is still open until someone coughs.

Only it’s not a cough, it’s a _growl_.

Stiles really only knows one human on the planet who is capable of making such a sound.

Scott freezes mid-pillow tackle and Stiles has to force himself to look at Derek, who is standing at the foot of his bed and looks like he’s about to have a stroke.

“McCall – out.” Derek says quietly, his voice quivering with fury and Scott shakes his head, his expression stern.

“Yeah right, no way,” he says and Derek’s voice drops down to a whisper.

“I won’t repeat myself. Out,” he breathes and Stiles gently nudges his best friend’s shoulder.

There is nothing he wants more than for Scott to stay and be his support, but he really doesn’t want Scott to get in trouble with Derek as well.

“I’ll be fine, Scott, I promise. Go. We can talk this out like adults,” he says and Scott looks like it physically pains him to leave.

“I’ll be outside,” he says, glaring at Derek, before the door swings shut.

Stiles scrambles off the bed so they are on equal ground and squares his shoulders, looking Derek straight in the eye and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yes Captain?” he says, his tone a mixture of defiant and aggressive.

If looks could kill, Stiles would be dead. Very, very dead.

Derek’s silent for a moment and when he does speak, Stiles wants him to stop immediately, hardly able to deal with the contempt and betrayal oozing out of every syllable Derek utters.

“You little piece of shit!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will do my very best to describe actual scenes on the field to the best of my abilities, but be warned that I have never watched soccer commentary in English so it might be a bit bumbly and I might opt to write some dramatic and/or juicy stuff off the field in favor of lots of detailed sports descriptions ;-)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I'm switching the game order around here a little and applying creative license to the outcome of these games, but don't let that disturb you too much!

_Derek’s silent for a moment and when he does speak, Stiles wants him to stop immediately, hardly able to deal with the contempt and betrayal oozing out of every syllable Derek utters._

_“You little piece of shit!”_

 

“Well I love you, too, Derek, how nice of you stop by,” Stiles snarks after Derek’s aggressive declaration and Derek’s eyebrows twitch dangerously.

“Don’t even … you have _no_ right to even speak to me right now!” Derek grunts and Stiles rolls his eyes, because apparently his sense of self-preservation went out the window when he sent that stupid tweet.

“Well that’s interesting Cap, since a few seconds ago it seemed like you were desperately wanting to talk to me. Now, I’m really tired you see, I’ve kind of had a very exhausting day, emotionally and physically, and I just really want it to be over so can you please hurry and say what you came here to say so we can both go jerk off angrily and pretend this never happened?” Stiles hisses, though he’s flinching even while he’s saying it.

He knows he’s pushing it, Derek Hale isn’t exactly known for his mellow temper in the team, but he’s _hurt_.

Derek called him a _that_ in the locker room earlier and out of everything that has happened today that remark has probably hurt Stiles the most.

He’s not a _that_ ; he’s a person, not an animal, and as far as he’s concerned Derek needs to be reminded of that and quickly, because once he’s been allowed to dehumanize Stiles in his head all bets are off when it comes to their interactions on the field.

He’s sounding dramatic even to himself, but Stiles can’t help it, the almost feral look in Derek’s eyes is scaring him, scaring him enough to actually worry about his safety.

“I’m not … Damn it Stilinski … You ruined _everything_!” Derek finally exclaims and Stiles rolls his eyes.

“We haven’t even played one game, how could I have possibly ruined anything yet?” he asks and Derek growls.

“Do you realize how hard I’ve fought for this team? For this sport? People already think it’s inferior to football and I’ve tried so _fucking_ hard to prove to everyone that this is a sport that can be taken seriously, that we’re not some dumb dogs chasing after a stupid ball! And then you go and _blab_ your sex stuff all over twitter and now everything’s _ruined_!” Derek yells and Stiles flinches when spit hits the corner of his mouth.

“Yes! I’m cured! You’ve turned me into a heterosexual with your spit; I always knew it was infectious! I had hoped to swap that particular body fluid with you in a more pleasant atmosphere but really, this is fine, too.”

Derek is white as a sheet and shaking and Stiles uncrosses his arms to throw his hands up in the air.

“Oh my _god_ , Derek! Don’t be an idiot! Are you even listening to yourself right now? What’s all that talk about inferiority? Are you trying to say gay people are inferior, because dude, I take offense to that! There are homosexuals in pro-football coming out all across America, the fact that I’m out doesn’t mean that soccer is suddenly a sissy sport!”

He pauses and regards Derek with bitter amusement.

“Oh and don’t worry, if I was dying of thirst and the only fluid available was your spit I’d much rather kick the bucket, so _you_ go ahead and don’t shower with _that_ , but don’t even think for a second that I would ever willingly touch you!” he spits out and for a moment it seems as if Derek actually recoils from the bitter venom in Stiles’ voice.

He recovers almost immediately, eyes tightening to slits as he clenches his fists at his side.

“Touch me in front of the cameras and you’ll regret it,” he threatens and Stiles has no doubt that he means it.

“Get out of my room,” he says quietly and when Derek doesn’t move a muscle he raises his voice, aware that he’s shrieking but too beyond anger to care.

“Out I said! Now! Or I’ll call security on your threatening ass!”

The thought of outsiders being involved seems to be a big enough motivator and Derek leaves the door without even another glance at Stiles.

Stiles feels kind of guilty when he hurls his shoe at the door and almost brains Scott, who all but falls inside his room the moment Derek has disappeared out of his sight.

“Dude,” Scott breathes, looking at Stiles with a mixture of awe and horror.

“You might be the first person who’s ever called Derek out on his shit like that. That being said, if he can’t take it, you’re dead. So, so violently dead.”

Stiles sighs.

“Nonsense. What’s the worst that could happen? He can’t kill me, everyone would know who did it. Worst he can do is aim one good ‘accidental’ kick at my knees and ruin my professional career.”

He starts shaking as soon as he’s finished the sentence.

“Oh gosh, Scott. He wouldn’t do that, would he? He wouldn’t, right? Please tell me he wouldn’t. Oh my god, this is not happening! Scott, what did I _do_?!” he almost wails, panting frantically, and Scott, his anchor of a best friend, pulls him against his chest, stroking his back as he waits for the panic attack to subside.

When it does, Stiles is soaked in sweat and Scott doesn’t even blink an eye when he pulls the soaked shirt off of Stiles and steers him to the bathroom, stays with him in fact until he’s securely tucked into his bed.

Sleep, however, doesn’t come easily and as he twists and turns his minds keeps going back to the expression on Derek’s face.

There’s something he’s not telling Stiles, something that is making this thing much more personal for him than it should be, and even though Stiles would gladly go the rest of his life without ever having to talk to Derek Hale again at this point, he knows that he has to find out what it is.

He can’t explain the feeling, but somehow he’s certain that whatever it is, it’s the only chance he has to actually make it through this tournament.

 

===============

 

Their first game in Group G is against Portugal, a country that recognizes same-sex marriage and is considered to be among the most progressive countries in the world when it comes to LGBT rights, Stiles reads on Wikipedia that morning. Although he doesn’t know how that acceptance will translate to the Portuguese players’ behavior on the field, at least his first game isn’t against a nation where homosexuality is still illegal.

Stiles is _not_ looking forward to the Ghana game, but he’s also not looking forward to this game, if he’s completely honest with himself. As a defense player, he and Derek usually don’t have that much interaction on the field, but Ennis is another set of problems just waiting to blow up in Stiles’ face.

He’s not even sure what the big guy’s problem is exactly, whether he’s homophobic or just really likes to bully anyone who presents an ‘easy’ target, but he’s begun to taunt him on the field and it’s getting extremely annoying.

His passes are as accurate as ever and just by looking at their team-work in training you would never think something’s wrong, but what the cameras won’t pick up on – probably – will be the insults Ennis hurls at him whenever he yells for him to watch out or react.

They won’t pick up on the sneer on his face or the dangerous glint in his eyes and Stiles is really glad that he has Scott, who has taken it upon himself to watch Stiles’ back in the locker room, convinced that either Ennis or Matt are about to play a nasty prank on him.

The rest of the team, thankfully, seems to be mostly ambivalent, if slightly annoyed about the press attention, and even though Danny is a poster-boy of silence around him, Jackson has absolutely no issues with snarling at Ennis, Matt, or Derek when they make disparaging comments. He’s not defending Stiles per se but Stiles is grateful nevertheless.

Grateful enough that he maybe – just maybe – might give Lydia’s number to Jackson after all. He’s not sure if Lydia is really all that interested, but Jackson definitely is, ever since he met her at the press conference just before they flew to Brazil.

Lydia isn’t his advisor, she doesn’t give a rats’ ass about soccer, but she does like to tag along when Stiles has to speak in front of cameras, claiming that _somebody_ needs to make sure he doesn’t forget to comb his hair or buttons his shirts correctly.

Stiles’ nerves are in tatters, but that thought actually makes him smile – Lydia would whip Jackson’s ass, no questions asked, and he should _definitely_ get them acquainted with each other. It can only lead to hilarity for him and when he catches sight of Derek’s grim face across the locker room, he’s certain that he’ll need all the hilarity that he can get in his not-so-distant future.

“This is a strong team,” the Coach says, interrupting his thoughts, and Stiles and Scott share a guilty look when they see the supersized cupcake in Finstock’s hands.

Cupcakes, not surprisingly, are his go-to-food in times of crises, and the fact that he’s eating one right now doesn’t exactly speak of his confidence that this game is going to go well.

“I need you to stay focused, I need you to stay alert. This is not going to be easy. United by team, driven by passion. That’s what I want to see on the field! One team, one shared passion. Do _not_ disappoint me,” he mumbles through a big chunk of chocolate cupcake and cream-cheese icing and to their credit Derek, Matt, and Ennis stay mum on the subject, even though they are giving Stiles dirty looks.

Suddenly there’s a commotion outside the room and before anyone can react the door bursts open and all Stiles sees is ginger before strong arms wrap around him.

“You’re strong, you’ve got this!” Lydia whispers into his ear and when Stiles looks up he is not at all surprised to see his father standing next to Scott, looking a little guilty, but also concerned.

“We couldn’t send you on the field without telling you we got here,” his father says, his voice thick with emotion and Stiles swallows heavily.

His father and Lydia were supposed to arrive the evening before but their flight got delayed – not that they would have had access to the hotel anyways, but still, Stiles is fiercely glad that Lydia doesn’t give a damn about rules and the Sheriff is surprisingly willing to bend them when it involves his only child.

“You’ve got this, kid,” he whispers into his ear when he draws him into a firm hug and Stiles blinks back tears.

It’s a heavy moment for them – Stiles only got into soccer because it was his mother’s passion and that she’s not here today feels like an open wound to the chest – and a part of Stiles hates that he has gone and ruined it for them.

Stiles’ father should be filled with joyous anticipation and loving memories of his mom, not with fear that some homophobe will go and maim his son on the field.

“As touching as this is,” Finstock’s voice suddenly rings out and when Stiles looks at the Coach he is rather unhappy to note that Finstock is peeling a second, even larger cupcake out of its wrapper.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to kick you out now, you are not even supposed to _be_ here. How the hell did you get in here in the first place!” he barks, his nerves clearly just as frayed as Stiles’ are.

“We’re going, we’re going,” his father says firmly and Stiles does _not_ miss the interested look Lydia throws in Jackson’s direction when she lets herself get dragged out of the locker room.

He’ll definitely have to set them up.

 

==================

 

There are chants, but Stiles was expecting that and it doesn’t throw him off.

There are also banners. Not as many as Stiles was expecting, but there are definitely a handful.

He’s maybe, possibly, a little appalled at the fact that FIFA officials aren’t tearing them down, but then again, thinking about the internal workings of FIFA just gives him a headache anyways.

The Portuguese, it turns out, couldn’t care less that he’s newly out and proud. They are here to win the game and they dominate said game from the first minute.

Finstock, from what Stiles can tell when he looks over to the bench after about twenty minutes, seems to be on cupcake number four – or five, Stiles isn’t sure.

The defense is working effectively, probably the only reason the Portuguese haven’t scored yet and Stiles is drenched in sweat, not at all used to the humid climate in Brazil.

Ennis runs past him and it is a testament to how badly the game is going for them that he hasn’t hurled one homophobic insult at Stiles yet, clearly too focused on doing his actual job.

If he was a bigger person, Stiles might even be proud of him.

As it is, _Stiles_ is the one that would like to start hurling insults, mainly at Derek, who has made a clusterfuck out of three really good chances for Team USA already and Stiles just refuses to believe he’s playing so distractedly because of his teammate’s sexual orientation.

When the Portuguese score the first goal it’s definitely not Stiles’ fault – that honor goes to Matt, who accidentally passes the ball directly to the narcissist Portuguese forward with the pretty hair and Danny has no chance in hell of catching the ball.

The tension mounts twenty-fold after that and during half-time Finstock yells at them in the locker-room for ten minutes, spraying them with flying bits of cupcake.

Scott is wincing next to him and Stiles looks at his best friend in concern but the midfield player shakes his head, indicating he’ll be fine.

Scott had some bad luck with muscle injuries last season and Stiles desperately hopes – for his best friend’s sake as well as his own – that his thighs won’t give out on him.

When they run back onto the field Derek is almost stone-faced, but at least he seems to have pulled himself together enough to actually become a danger in front of the Portuguese goal post.

The Portuguese seem to be playing it safe now and for a while their team actually has a higher ball possession rate. Then Isaac, one of the youngest players on the team, almost causes the 2:0 when he barely misses scoring into their own goal during a skirmish with the Portuguese offense and suddenly Portugal is coming back strong, apparently determined to go after the 2:0 now.

There are five minutes left and Stiles and the rest of the defense have to work hard, as Portuguese players seem to appear out of thin air. It seems almost like a miracle when Jackson intercepts a pass and starts running towards the Portuguese goal, with Derek and half of the Portuguese team hot on his heels.

Stiles is arguably one of the two fastest players on the team – only occasionally bested by Derek, who does wear the Captain’s band for a variety of reasons – and he reaches Jackson before Derek does, sprints past him and out of offside and when Jackson passes the ball to him Stiles kicks with all his might, sure that he’s missed the goal, certain that he just messed up their only chance of turning this game around.

Suddenly there are three pairs of arms clutching at him and when Stiles looks at Scott’s wild, ecstatic face he realizes that the chants echoing through the stadium are “USA! USA!” and “Stiles!”

He hardly ever scores goals – it’s not necessarily in his primary job description – but somehow he has managed to score the first American goal in this tournament and when he realizes that, it seems as if a huge weight has just rolled off his shoulders.

Scott is grabbing his face and laughing, Jackson seems to be trying to punch a hole into his shoulder and Isaac, who’s the owner of the curls currently tickling Stiles’ sweaty neck, seems to be beyond relief, the shock of almost causing the 2:0 clearly still in his bones.

For the first time in almost a week Stiles is happy, ecstatic even, and when he sees Derek walk towards him he doesn’t think, driven by automatism when he pulls Derek into a celebratory hug.

Derek goes stiff as a board and the barely audible hiss near Stiles’ ear is enough to pour a cold shower over Stiles’ excitement.

He lets go of Derek immediately and tenses, suddenly afraid that Derek is going to punch him for violating the “Don’t touch me in front of cameras” rule, but Derek is all smiles, even claps him on the shoulder.

The smile doesn’t reach his eyes, but Stiles doesn’t think the cameras are going to pick up on that.

He turns away from Derek, suddenly no longer able to look into his eyes and when the referee finally blows his whistle, Stiles feels like he could collapse on the field, all the adrenaline gone and replaced by bone-deep fatigue.

It’s a tie, 1:1, but considering their performance during the first half of the game they should probably count that as a tiny win in itself.

There are reporters waiting near the locker rooms and Stiles barely makes it through the three mandatory interviews.

He’s too exhausted, physically and emotionally and really, all he wants to do is jump into the shower and then go to the hotel and sleep.

When he gets to the locker room Finstock, who is rubbing his stomach with a pinched expression, and Scott are bent over Jackson’s Ipad – Stiles would laugh at Jackson’s Apple obsession but he doesn’t think he has it in him right now – and he makes a beeline for the showers, relieved when the only person in there is Danny.

Danny is safe and Stiles allows himself to relax, letting the warm water cascade down his back and soothing his aching muscles.

The volume in the locker room increases and Stiles decides to block it out, not interested in the inevitable after-game discussion that follows after a particularly close call, but then he recognizes one of the voices as Scott’s and suddenly Stiles can no longer block it out.

Scott is using his “You hurt someone I love and I may be too nice to end you, but you bet I’m going to scream at you”-voice and that means it probably has to do with him.

A heavy feeling settles down in Stiles’ gut when he turns off the faucet and by the time he’s slipped into a pair of fresh shorts and walked back into the room Scott is downright screaming.

The person he’s screaming at is Derek, whose expression is stony.

“How could you _do_ this?! You asshole you … you major, fucking _asshole_!” Scott screeches and Stiles decides to intervene, after all, Derek hasn’t really _done_ anything to him during the game, apart from the fact that apparently they can’t even celebrate a goal together now.

“Come on Scott, it’s not worth it,” he says, trying to put his hand on his best friend’s shoulder, but Scott shakes him off, whirls around and thrusts Jackson’s Ipad into his face.

“Not worth it? _Look_ at this. What the _fuck_ Derek!” he yells, obviously completely beside himself.

Stiles looks at the little clip that’s apparently all over Twitter right now and suddenly it feels as if someone has punched him in the stomach.

It’s footage of their hug, or rather, Stiles’ attempt at hugging Derek, and you can clearly see Derek going stiff in his arms, even though his face is all smiles while he perfunctorily claps Stiles’ shoulder. That’s not the worst part, however.

The worst part is what happens after Stiles turned around to avoid looking at Derek’s hateful eyes any longer.

Derek turns halfway, looks at his hand – and wipes it on his shorts.

With a look of utter disgust on his face.

Stiles makes a soft, wounded sound, hating himself for seeming weak in front of Derek but not able to help it.

The Ipad is taken from him and then Scott throws his arm around his shoulder, uniting them as a front against Derek, who is refusing to meet Stiles’ gaze.

“You realize how utterly _dumb_ that was, right?” an unexpected voice speaks up suddenly and when Stiles turns around Danny strides past him, clad in only a towel as he stops in front of Derek, his face white with fury.

“I don’t know what you were thinking there, _Derek_ but you realize that the mainstream media is predominantly liberal, right? This is going to come back and bite _your_ arse, not Stiles’. _You_ are going to be the one losing sympathy points and you know what? That’s a really fucking lame thing for a Team Captain to do and could affect _all_ of us!”

Danny barely even raises his voice but his contempt drips from every word and Derek’s face does a complicated thing that looks like he’s simultaneously plotting someone’s murder and planning to run to his mommy crying.

“This is a disaster!” the Coach suddenly groans and when Stiles turns towards him he wonders if Finstock is about to throw up.

He certainly looks that way, with his hands pressed against his abdomen, his face pale and shaking like a leaf.

“This is not a team – this is a pestilence! And let it be known that if I throw up all over you right now it will _not_ be because I ate 15 cupcakes in the past two hours, but because you utterly disgust me! All of you!” he groans, before sharply turning around and marching out of the locker room.

The door slams shut behind him and before Stiles can react Derek already brushes past him, almost hitting him in the shoulder as he grabs his bag and storms out after Finstock, Enis and Matt hot on his heels.

The rest of the team looks at Stiles with differing expressions of pity and anger and it’s only a small blessing that the anger is clearly not directed at him.

==============

 

Stiles knows he should not go online, he knows he probably doesn’t want to see the reaction to that little clip, but he’s a masochist and not surprisingly the first headline that hits him when he opens his browser, placed above a picture of Derek wiping his hand on his shorts, is **“Divided By Team, Slowed Down By Homophobia _”._**

It’s clever, Stiles has to admit. It’s the kind of headline that he probably would have come up with, had he gone into gossipy journalism instead of soccer.

Sadly, he’s not sitting behind a desk and munching on a donut, happily typing away about other people’s misfortunes – at least that’s what he imagines the life of a gossip journalist to be like.

Instead he’s in Brazil, his coach is eating himself into cupcake-caused digestive distress because of him, his team captain hates him and even though Derek will probably end up getting some flack over this, one thing is painfully clear.

When their team is inevitably kicked out of the competition, it won’t be Derek whose broad shoulders will have to carry the blame.

It’ll be Stiles’ – and if today was an indicator of what the rest of his time in Brazil is going to be like, he’s terrified he won’t be able to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated! Also thank you to all my subscribers, I have never had this many subscribers and I'm kind of stoked about it!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any mistakes I might have overlooked in this chapter but I might possibly still be in a celebratory haze.
> 
> Having your team win the World Cup will do that to you!
> 
> Therefore - celebratory update, yay!

Gay or not, the simple fact of the matter is that _Stiles_ scored the goal that kept them from losing the game and when he turns his phone on again the next morning his mailbox has actually run out of space.

Not that he’d give interviews right now, even without Finstock’s media-ban concerning anything that could possibly be gay-related, but he has to smile when Lydia texts him the link to a Buzzfeed article titled **“25 Reasons Why We Love Stiles Stilinski” _._**

Whoever researched the article did a pretty good job, because Stiles is pretty sure he’s never spoken about his love for comic books (#4) and his Pathfinder obsession (#23) with anyone who is not in his closest circle of friends.

He is, however, very much in agreement with the author’s assessment of his butt-situation ( _Smoking Hottttt_ #2) and his “boyish charm” (#11).

Ok so he kind of wishes they had more soccer-related reasons on that list other than a solitary _Just Scored the First Goal How Freaking Awesome is That?!_ (#7), but well, he’ll take what he can get.

When he gets down to the breakfast room Scott, Jackson, Isaac, and Danny are sitting at a table that’s halfway across the room from Derek and Stiles almost sniffs over how much he loves his best friend.

The love is dimmed only slightly when Scott doesn’t shut up about his “luscious lashes” (#3) and “adorable dorkiness” (#24) until Jackson threatens to throw up on his cereal.

Stiles knows what his best friend is doing and he appreciates his efforts to take Stiles’ mind off of their team captain and the backlash after the game, but it’s only working partially.

As much as Stiles wants Derek Hale to be dead to him off the field or in any situation that is not related to training, he knows that this will crush their team morale even worse and really, Stiles does not in any way, shape, or form want to be responsible for creating a rift among the players.

It’s bad enough that the starting 11 are already pretty much divided into three factions, with Stiles, Isaac, Danny, Scott, and Jackson on one side, Derek, Matt, and Ennis on the other, and Ethan, Aidan, and Boyd as Switzerland, neutral and apparently very unwilling to take sides on the issue.

“I think Captain Sour Pants is really regretting his actions right now,” Scott suddenly says and before Stiles can investigate what he means the empty chair at their table is pulled away noisily and Coach Finstock plops down with a miserable expression on his face.

His paleness, Stiles is pretty sure, is the only reason why their waitress doesn’t laugh at him when he attempts to order a chamomile tea in truly atrocious Portuguese and when she hurries away, Finstock fixes them with an accusatory glare.

“Do you know what 15 cupcakes do to your digestive system?” he asks dramatically and before anyone can answer he continues, ignoring their pained expressions as he proceeds to detail the frequency, consistency, color, and pain-level of every single mad dash to the bathroom that was apparently Bobby Finstock’s Night of Personal Hell 2014.

“In conclusion – yesterday’s display of the most divided team in the history of united teams will not happen again or else I will find a way to make you suffer with me as my bowels try to kill me, am I making myself clear?” he finally concludes and all five players nod dutifully, eyeing the heavily buttered roll currently disappearing into Finstock’s mouth with suspicion.

“Coach? Don’t you think you should take it easy with the rich foods today?” Scott finally ventures and the glare he gets in response is on Derek’s epic glare-level.

Coach’s mood does not improve throughout the rest of the day and he lets them suffer for it.

Not by exhausting them physically, he’s smart enough to realize that would be bad idea, but by giving them a total of ten movie-inspired lectures about team spirit and success.

He also sneaks in Hugh Grant’s _Love Actually_ speech about bullying and taking a stand – and David Beckham’s feet, but that’s another story – and Stiles is busily avoiding Derek’s glare while he listens to Coach trying to imitate Grant’s British accent.

Only he needn’t have bothered – Derek is actually not looking at anybody, his mouth set in a grim line as he stares at the floor.

The media is _not_ happy with Derek and it’s an experience so unnatural for him that he is probably too stunned to do anything.

At least that’s Scott’s theory as he reads people’s reactions on twitter, tumblr, and the nation’s leading news sources to Stiles that evening.

Derek is under attack for his lack of sportsmanship, homophobia, being a disgrace to the spirit of teamwork, and being well on his way to destroying the team’s chances of winning anything in this tournament.

Additionally, every single out professional sports player in the US – and some from around the world – have rallied together to support Stiles and truth be told he’s a little intimidated by the importance of it all, the role he is suddenly expected to play.

“You’re supposed to play on the field – we’re going to worry about the rest afterwards,” Scott reassures him when he voices his fears and although Stiles doesn’t really believe him, he once again marvels over how lucky he is to have Scott as a best friend.

Scott, with his never-ending quest to be everyone’s shoulder to cry on and his adorable obliviousness to the fact that almost every other comment under any given Stiles article is speculating about the nature of their relationship.

Stiles is pretty sure Scott hasn’t realized it yet and he doesn’t’ really want to point it out, but he does worry about what that will mean for Scott on the field.

 

================

 

Three days, fifteen hours, and twenty minutes later, Stiles gets his answer when he has to watch Scott being carried off the field on a stretcher.

He doesn’t want to accuse Ghana’s heavily tattooed player of anything since he looks apologetic enough – well, a grumpy version of apologetic anyways – but it _was_ a pretty nasty foul and, at least from what Stiles could see, absolutely unnecessary since the ball was about to roll off the field anyways.

Stiles doesn’t get into discussions with referees very often, he’s always concerned that he’ll say something he’ll regret – a tendency to speak before thinking will do that to you – but he’s broken his rule today, to protest the yellow card that’s doled out as a punishment for the near-crippling of his best friend.

That player should have seen red and Stiles is not the only one who thinks so, judging by the raised voices around him, the loudest of which – not surprisingly – is Derek, who takes to venting out his anger like a baby to a pacifier.

Stiles has long since decided that being angry is Derek’s coping mechanism with life and he’s somewhat relieved to note that for once during this tournament this anger is not directed at him.

The game becomes a bit jerky after that, with emotions running high on both sides.

Except for that nasty foul to Scott Ghana is playing fair though, to the point where Stiles almost feels a bit guilty for his pre-game anxiety that the African players might attack him for his sexual orientation, considering he’d face the risk of prison if he was a citizen in Ghana.

In the end, however, much like during the game with Portugal, Stiles gets the impression that the only thing the players really care about is winning and it makes Stiles sick to his stomach that the passive-aggressive harassment he has been facing from parts of his own team has him so on edge that he’s now accusing everyone of being violently homophobic.

He shouldn’t be so afraid – that’s the thing.

Who he likes to kiss goodnight should not matter to anybody, especially not in a professional sports tournament, and yes, if he hadn’t been drunk he would have never chosen the eve of the World Cup to announce his homosexuality, but still, it shouldn’t have mattered anyhow.

During half-time he only partially listens to the Coach’s rants, since he’s mostly screaming at Derek for not concentrating enough and when they run back out on the field he barely registers the ‘Stilinski’-chants of the US-fans, determined to finish this game strong.

For a while it’s more of the same, neither team can really get into the rhythm they have practiced and Stiles winces when Ennis sees yellow for tackling the Ghana forward as if they were playing American football.

Five minutes later Ghana almost scores a goal because Matt wasn’t paying attention and let the forward through, then Derek howls in frustration when the assistant referee stops him for being offside.

It’s still 0:0 and with only twenty minutes left to play Stiles is starting to feel exhausted.

He’s also still worried about Scott, who was clutching his thigh in a way that suggested he might have aggravated his old injury and for a moment Stiles is so distracted that he passes the ball to one of Ghana’s players.

It was a beautiful pass, too, at least he’s got that going for him he barely has time to think as he chases after the ball, ignoring Ennis’ furious howl when he responds to the threat as well.

In any case, neither of them is fast enough to prevent Ghana from taking a shot at the goal, but Danny’s reflexes are perfect and he effortlessly catches the ball.

Stiles doesn’t look at Ennis, Matt, _or_ Derek as they reassemble their positions and the next ten minutes are more of the same – lots of running, little to no chances to actually score a goal.

The fans on each side are getting annoyed, too, their chants becoming more and more taunting and Stiles doesn’t even have to look at the pile of cupcake and candy wrappers that is steadily growing on the grass next to the Coach’s bench to know that something has to happen soon.

They need to win this game if they want to advance, another tie will probably be their ticket back home and he can see that dawning knowledge in everyone’s face.

They are on the other side of the field now and Isaac’s got the ball.

He’s not in offside and since Isaac’s still brooding over his mistake during the last game Stiles hopes he’ll be the one to score the goal.

Only he doesn’t, his nerves apparently getting away from him as he passes the ball to Derek, who reacts promptly and – scores.

Stiles is – conflicted about this.

On the one hand he is extremely relieved that they’ve scored this goal, because there’s only two minutes left, maybe four if they get two additional minutes, and he’s determined to do everything possible to prevent Ghana from making the tie after all.

On the other hand he really doesn’t know what to do about this.

He’s close enough to Derek that he should congratulate him – a friendly pat on the back, a hug, some form of acknowledgment that will prove to the fans that he’s bigger than that, that they are a team and that he knows what that means.

Only he and Derek are not a team and although he’s certain that Derek won’t wipe his hands again, he just – doesn’t want to touch Derek.

Not to mention that Derek doesn’t look inviting at all, more grim-faced than anything, despite the fact that he just pretty much made himself the hero of the hour.

He’s saved from making a decision when the referee whistles for the game to continue.

As they get into position again, determined to keep Ghana from scoring in the last couple of minutes, Derek turns into a machine.

There’s really no other way to describe it.

He’s everywhere all of a sudden, much more aggressive than he technically needs to be at this point and he looks incredibly angry.

So angry, in fact, that he’s off the field as soon as the match is finally over.

It’s only then that Stiles notices the words of the chant that has been ringing through the stadium and although a small, petty part of him appreciates the sentiment, the larger part, the one that values true sportsmanship, wants to tear at his hair in frustration.

There aren’t many fans who are chanting it, which is why Stiles has missed it until now, but the words ‘Derek’s Hate – Overcompensate’ make him cringe.

For one, it’s not really a creative chant and secondly, Stiles has always been extremely uncomfortable with using sexual orientation as a reference point of attack, regardless of the intention behind it.

Here, the intention is clearly to taunt Derek, to ‘accuse’ him of being a closeted homosexual himself and well, Stiles is not happy about that.

He’d even send out a tweet about it, if Coach hadn’t changed his twitter password two days after the twitter-incident.

The incident that actually has a name now – Closet-Gate. Stiles would mock whoever came up with that, but at least it’s not something like Queer-Gate, which would be much worse.

When he eventually gets to the locker room Derek is already wearing his sweats and training jacket, his hair slightly damp and his face tense.

“Are we not even saying thank you to the fans anymore?” Jackson grunts as he walks past him and Derek rubs his eyes, looking very tired all of a sudden.

Stiles has zero pity for him as he hops under the shower and by the time he feels like a normal human being again Coach is already ranting about their performance on the field.

Stiles doesn’t really care about a performance review right now, all he wants is to know if Scott is going to be ok and Coach all but deflates like a balloon when he finally gets a word in and asks.

“If we get out of the group stage he’ll be fit to play again, but the doc says he most definitely has to sit out the next game,” he explains with a huge sigh and Stiles’ heart breaks just a little bit.

He isn’t really interested in the Coach’s ramblings about team spirit and so he grabs his bag, intending to go check on Scott as soon as possible.

On his way out of the locker room he bumps into a woman and he’s just about to remind her that women aren’t really allowed in the men’s locker room – unless, apparently, if you are the chancellor of Germany, if that German player’s Twitter photo is to be believed – when he realizes who she is.

Kate Argent, the daughter of Derek’s advisor and essentially his manager.

Stiles and Scott have long speculated over the exact nature of Derek and Kate’s relationship and he flinches when Kate looks at him as if he was some sort of disgusting insect that she needs to squash with her expensive-looking high heels.

Whatever they are to each other, they are obviously in agreement about their disdain of Stiles.

He tries to walk past her but she holds his gaze, nodding at him with the barest hint of a smirk.

“Mr. Stilinski – America’s newest hero, who would have thought.”

She is obviously referring to the positive reaction of the more liberal parts of the media and Stiles almost doesn’t dignify her snarky comment with an answer, but the Sheriff raised a polite boy and so he nods tersely.

“Ms. Argent,” he says, shouldering his bag to indicate that he is on his way out.

Kate doesn’t take the hint.

“That was not necessarily a stellar display of sportsmanship back there on the field when Derek scored the winning goal,” she says tersely and Stiles shrugs.

“I was under the impression that Derek doesn’t like touching me these days,” he responds icily and Kate grins almost wolfishly.

“Derek won’t be making last game’s mistake again, let me assure you, the message has been sent, there is no need for a repeat.”

Stiles has no idea what to say to that and he flinches when Kate gets into his personal space, still looking as if she wants to squash him.

“Stay away from him Mr. Stilinski. Better for Derek and better for you,” she whispers and Stiles’ expression hardens.

“Was that a threat Ms. Argent?” he asks coldly and Kate smiles her most disarming smile.

“Of course not. How silly of you to think so. I’m just … concerned about you. I’m _very_ concerned about people like you.”

Stiles opens his mouth but before he can say something he might possibly regret later, Derek appears in the doorway, looking almost panicked as his gaze flits back and forth between Kate and Stiles.

“Kate!” he says and Kate finally leaves Stiles’ personal space as she walks over to Derek and pecks him on the cheek.

“Great game Derek! Mr. Stilinski and I were just talking about that goal. That celebration shot will be perfect for your upcoming ad-campaign!” she exclaims in a false cheery voice and Stiles frowns, because he has no clue in the world why Kate would use that tone with Derek.

It sounds like a thinly veiled threat and judging by the look on Derek’s face he’s gotten the same impression.

Derek looks … almost scared, though the fear in his eyes is replaced by revulsion when he looks at Stiles.

“Go check on Scott!” he says gruffly and although Stiles would normally object to Derek commandeering him around, this is an order he will gladly take, if only to leave this awkward situation that he doesn’t understand anyways.

It isn’t until later that evening, when Stiles is curled up on his bed and browses the world press’ reactions to the game that he realizes just why Derek was scared.

The ad-campaign Kate was referring to is for a large chain-store that specializes in crafts and art materials and – apparently – has a soft spot for homophobic soccer captains who would admittedly make almost everyone swoon in an add where they help adorable little kids with their soccer scrapbook.

Some of their politics are also rather morally conservative – one might even say shameful – and suddenly Kate’s threat makes a lot more sense.

Derek’s open disdain of Stiles, the celebrated out-and-proud player in the US Team, probably has the store’s executives salivating with glee right now.

With a groan Stiles rolls over and buries his head into his pillow.

If Derek was homophobic for religious reasons, well – he still wouldn’t appreciate it but he would probably tolerate it.

Maybe. If he’d stick to the whole ‘love the sinner, hate the sin’ approach and stop treating Stiles like the scum of the universe.

But being _paid_ for homophobia?

Stiles is _not_ going to tolerate that – and Derek will reap the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upcoming: There's more to Kate and her past with Derek than meets the eye and as Stiles begins to realize just how much control she has had over his life things become a lot ... clearer. Which doesn't make it right but still - no one should have to deal with that kind of abuse.
> 
> Also, the US plays Germany and while I'm not saying that Stiles' internal dialogue during that game will be spent swooning over the German players, I'm also not guaranteeing anything right now ;-).
> 
> And in case you were wondering if I just threw some shade on a certain US arts and crafts store with a name that rhymes ... you betcha. 
> 
> P.S: If you are Argentinian and reading this: Su equipo jugó bien y ustedes nos obligaron a luchar duro! Muchos saludos y respeto!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ATTENTION/WARNING: I added a Non-Con tag for this chapter, because this chapter includes non-con sexually abusive behavior from one character towards another. If that bothers you, please proceed with caution.

Phase One of Stiles’ “Zero Patience for Homophobia”-mission is implemented the next day and includes a lot of smiling.

If it weren’t so utterly pathetic, Stiles would probably be pleased at Derek’s freaked-out expression whenever he grins at him during training and he only stops when Derek gets so preoccupied that he messes up on the simplest passes, leading Finstock to scream at them with a massive Twinkie in his hand.

These things are disgusting in their small form and Stiles briefly wonders why anyone felt the need to produce an XXL-version before he backs away from Derek.

It’s not like they interact a lot on the field anyways and he might just as well pester Ennis and Matt by being a _very_ smiley version of his normally charming self.

Ennis just growls and ignores it, but he does get a rise out of Matt when he kicks the ball so hard that it almost hits Stiles’ face.

It’s a particularly humid day in Brazil today and Stiles is drenched in sweat when they take a break around noon, dropping down next to Scott with a heavy sigh and making weak grabs for his best friend’s water bottle.

“So … you are trying to get killed, is that it?” Scott asks politely and Stiles grins.

“Nope.”

“I believe you, I do. You’re just flirting with Derek because that’s good for your health.”

Stiles rolls his eyes.

“I’m not flirting with Derek, I have much more self-respect than that.”

Scott looks offended.

“Dude, I _know_ you’re not seriously flirting with Derek. But Derek sure thinks you are!”

He points towards a very silent, very broody Derek Hale, who keeps looking at Stiles with an expression that in Derek Hale-speak probably means something violent like ‘I’m going to rip your throat out with my teeth’.

Not that he could ever accomplish it with these bunny teeth of his, but Stiles is certain that if he had the chance he would probably try.

“I wanted to take the high road, you know. But Kate Argent dropped by the locker room yesterday and she reminded me of something and … it’s really not possible to sink any lower than Derek, so me riling him up a little is harmless.”

“Riling Derek up is the equivalent to a life full of misery and tears. What did the She-Devil say?”

Stiles is suddenly reminded that Scott actually knows the Argents much better than he does … or rather, he knows what they are like, having never really interacted with them in person during his passionate but short-lived romance with Allison, estranged daughter of Kate Argent’s brother.

Allison is nice enough, Stiles figures, even if she and Scotty didn’t work out, but she just has too much family baggage, enough that not even Scott’s happy-go-lucky attitude and unconditional love could turn her into a happy person.

Their break-up was mostly amicable and Stiles knows that they talk every now and then, but lately Scott has mostly been talking about a rather clumsy, yet adorable ESPN reporter, Kira something, he can’t remember.

Kira is always one of the first who interviews them after a game and after their match against Portugal she tripped over a microphone cord in her haste to thrust the recording device into Scott’s face, face-planting herself on his best bro’s sweaty jersey and smudging her lipstick all over it.

She had looked up at him horrified, ready to apologize profusely, but Stiles is pretty sure that it was love at first sight for Scott.

Stiles is also pretty confident that Scott is keeping the lipstick jersey under his pillow right now, because he’s naïve, romantic, and just the biggest sap in the whole wide world, but he won’t tease him about it.

That’s reserved for the inevitable best-man speech.

He just hopes Kira doesn’t have a crazy aunt like Kate.

“She didn’t say much – just reminded him about some contract,” he says, mind back to the present, and Scott scoffs.

“The one with that crafts store? I’m really not surprised they got him that gig, the Argents are crazy conservative and I’m pretty sure Allison’s mom is actually on the board of that store.”

“Are they very homophobic?” Stiles asks between large gulps of the cold water and Scott shrugs.

“I guess? Allison never really talked about her family but I do know she donated a large chunk of money to NOH8 a while back, said she felt she needed to make up for something, but she wouldn’t say what exactly. I didn’t ask; it seemed to be very personal.”

“How did they snatch up Derek anyways?” Stiles asks, his gaze wandering back to the man in question, who is currently glowering at the ball in front of him, kicking it back and forth with Ennis like he wants to murder it.

“Kate met him at some social function back in 2007 when he was still playing for the U-20 team and … but I don’t know this for sure, it’s just gossip … apparently there was an incident that Kate helped clear up and he’s been with them ever since.”

“An incident? Like what, did he glare at someone he shouldn’t have glared at?”

Scott shrugs.

“I don’t really know, Allison didn’t know either, but it must have been pretty serious, because Derek apparently lived with her grandfather and Kate for almost half a year afterwards.”

Stiles frowns.

“That sounds … kinda weird and all kinds of messed-up,” he says slowly and Scott shrugs again, idly massaging his bandaged leg.

“Well, you do know they used to date, right? Maybe it was some kind of weird Argent initiation test to see if Derek was worthy of her,” he says and Stiles spits out the water he just drank.

“What?!”

Scott sighs.

“Dude, for someone who is usually so up on gossip you actually don’t know _anything_ ,” he mutters, flinching when Stiles begins to sputter and he accidentally gets some water and spit in his face.

“When did they start dating? Why don’t I know about this? Wait, if that was in 2007, wasn’t Derek like 17 back then?”

Scott sighs.

“I guess that’s why most people actually don’t know about it. And yeah, it was pretty messed up from what Allison told me, but back then she was no longer on speaking terms with her family so as I said, this is all just gossip. They broke it off pretty soon after anyways, but they might as well still be dating, she micro-manages every aspect of his life.”

He grins ruefully.

“If he wasn’t such a total asshole, I’d actually feel sorry for the guy.”

Stiles grimaces.

“Where were his parents when all of that was going on? Shouldn’t they have put a stop to it? Kate must be at least ten years older than he is.”

Scott gives him an incredulous look.

“His parents are dead … you do know _that_ , right?”

Stiles flinches.

“Of course I do. But I thought that happened when he was already playing for the national team?”

“That’s when the media got a hold of it and really played it up to emphasize his silent, dramatic heroism on the field, but no, that accident actually happened when he was in High School. I think he was like 16 or something.”

Stiles rubs his eyes, almost feeling a little shitty about taunting Derek before he remembers that one has nothing to do with the other and dead parents are no excuse for treating Stiles like he is a disgusting piece of filth.

“No wonder he’s such a jerk –with the Argents as a surrogate family that was bound to happen, right?”

Scott winces, this time because of the pain in his leg.

“I guess,” he mutters and Stiles sits up straight, looking at his leg with concern.

“How bad is it?”

“Pretty bad. I really hope you guys advance on Thursday, because I’ll be crushed if I only get to play two games in this tournament.”

Stiles laughs lightly.

“We’ll try our very best to win against Germany. It’s not like they are projected to maybe win this entire thing or anything,” he grins, and Scott laughs, wincing again when his leg twitches.

“They did play well against Portugal, but that Ghana game was nothing to write home to your mother about. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

Stiles shakes his head.

Scott’s optimism, however, misplaced, is one of his favorite things about his best friend.

 

===============

 

To everyone’s surprise it looks like it could go either way for quite a while. Germany only needs a tie to advance to the next stage of the tournament and Stiles feels that they could definitely be trying harder.

It annoys him a little, he feels that you should always give a game your all, but at least Finstock probably won’t be suffering digestive distress tonight, since he hasn’t even finished his first cupcake yet – granted, it _is_ the size of Stiles’ head so it would have been hard to finish that quickly –, as Stiles notices during half-time.

He briefly wonders where Finstock keeps getting these supersized treats, then decides he doesn’t even want to know when he remembers Greenberg looking up pastry bakeries near the hotel the other day with a dreamy expression on his face.

One thing this game’s got going for it though – he’s never seen two goalies who are that attractive on the same field.

Granted, he would still choose Danny over that blonde, tall German guy any day, but he can’t deny that he maybe stared at the German goalkeeper a little longer than strictly necessary while they were waiting to go out on the field.

He’s certain that the part of the audience that really doesn’t watch for the sport will be thrilled.

Throw in a dash of Derek and ovaries should be bursting right about now.

Derek is frustrated by the German goalie’s skills, Stiles can clearly tell that by the way his shoulders are hunched as the man clears every dangerous situation in front of his goal with ease.

He’s also never heard him actually _growl_ during a game before.

The actual Germans might not be going ‘Angry German’ on their collective asses right now, but that’s because Derek has already got that covered.

He sees yellow in a skirmish with the German forward – though, Stiles has to admit, the guy has a tendency to fall rather dramatically – and by the time the Germans actually score their winning goal Stiles is almost glad, certain that Derek is just minutes away from a second yellow card, which would have prevented him from playing in the knock-out stage.

Because they’ve advanced, despite their loss to Germany, due to the result of the Portugal vs. Ghana game.

When the game is over Stiles almost collapses on the grass, shaking his head in disbelief as he takes in the fact that they have actually advanced and he pumps his fist towards the bench, where Scott is grinning like Kira just asked him out on a date (as a matter of fact, it turns out she did and Stiles so totally called that one).

They exchange jerseys with the Germans and Stiles has to hide his grin when two of the German players almost run over each other to get to exchange with him.

He dimly remembers something about a former German national player coming out at the beginning of the year, to mostly positive reactions, and he guesses that swapping jerseys with the openly gay star of the US team will get them some popularity points with the German press back home.

He ends up swapping with the forward that Derek almost ran over earlier. The guy is a good player and _someone_ has to apologize for Derek’s behavior – also, his last name is so uniquely German that Stiles feels pretty accomplished when he parades the jersey across the hotel room that night with a horrible fake German accent, ignoring Scott’s dreamy-eyed gaze as he plans out his date with Kira and Lydia’s rolling eyes as she keeps telling him to put the sweaty piece of cloth away.

He had dinner with his father earlier and since their next game isn’t until later next week Stiles feels that one night of fun with his two closest friends is definitely in the realm of the possible.

And besides, he’s probably the only player on the team right now who will never get in trouble for having a woman in his hotel room, so he might as well enjoy it.

“So, when are you going to give me Jackson’s number?” Lydia says suddenly and Stiles blinks.

“You _are_ interested?” he asks, wanting to make sure, and Lydia rolls her eyes once again, tapping her perfectly manicured nails against his thigh.

“Don’t be an idiot! Now, when do I get the number?”

Stiles grins.

“Phone number or room number?” he asks and Lydia contemplates the question for a second.

“Room number,” she decides, a devilish smirk on her features.

“If he’s man enough to give me his phone number when I show up uninvited, then I may just keep him.”

Considering that Lydia intimidates the heck out of most men, that’s probably a pretty good plan, Stiles admits grudgingly.

He is aware that he’s looking a little jealous and Lydia ruffles his hair affectionately.

“Don’t look so sour, that’s Derek’s job. You’ll always be the love of my life,” she grins and Stiles sigh loudly in fake relief.

“Good, I couldn’t bear to be replaced by Jackson Whittemore.”

In response, Lydia makes herself comfortable on his bed, her feet propped up in his lap as a silent invitation and Stiles dutifully begins to massage her ankles and feet, a skill he has perfected over the years as a pro-soccer player.

“Speaking of Derek … how are things with him?” Lydia asks and before Stiles can answer Scott interrupts them, looking a little resigned.

“Stiles has a death wish. He keeps flirting with Derek.”

Lydia’s strawberry blonde curls almost hit Stiles in the face when she whips her head towards him, looking shocked.

“Are you out of your freaking mind? He doesn’t deserve you, what the hell?!”

Stiles sighs.

“Why do all my friends think I don’t have self-esteem? I’m not flirting with Derek! I’m being nice to him. In protest. Because getting angry at him is exactly what he wants. I won’t give him the satisfaction.”

Lydia gives him a calculating stare.

“So we are still in agreement that he is a horrible person and that you should not even have to breathe the same air he does?” she asks and Stiles nods solemnly.

“He wiped his hands after he touched me. I’m not forgetting that,” he says softly and it’s true, he can still see the video footage when he closes his eyes and it still hits him as hard as the first time he saw it.

“Good,” Lydia says, stroking her fingers through his hair gently.

“He should stop looking down at you for being gay anyways. The guy is a least bi-curious, if not genuinely bisexual himself.”

Scott accidentally swallows a cookie he swiped from Finstock earlier down the wrong pipe and begins coughing loudly, turning beet red as he grabs his chest.

Stiles and Lydia are beside him immediately, thumping against his back and when the cookie chunk finally dislodges itself, Scott has tears running down his cheeks.

“Gah, Lydia, don’t _do_ that to me!” he winces, massaging his throat, and Stiles pats his back, turning towards Lydia with a frown on his face.

“I know you’re normally pretty good with that sort of thing, but don’t you think you might be wrong here? I mean, it would be the perfect cliché, the big, manly soccer star’s homophobia explained by latent homosexual tendencies. Don’t get me wrong, the irony would be gorgeous, but as a gay man I can confidently say I’ve never gotten such a vibe from Derek.”

“That’s because you’ve never pretend-flirted with him before. I was watching him earlier in the lobby, back when you were doing that dreamy-eyes thing you copied from Scott, though I thought you were directing it at Danny at the time, and trust me, he wasn’t offended by it … he was terrified.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s bi-curious or bisexual,” Stiles points out, adding “And I don’t want to hook up with Danny either,” as an afterthought.

Lydia waves her hands dismissively as if she doesn’t even want to dignify that with an answer.

“I know. But I also know what fear looks like and I really don’t think _you_ are the one he is afraid of.”

“He’s probably afraid he’ll lose his commercial-contract if the press starts believing him and Stiles are actually friendly with each other,” Scott points out and Stiles nods.

That sounds reasonable, gay rumors would most definitely end Derek Hale’s commercial-career with a whole bunch of companies that the Argents have ties to.

Lydia shrugs.

“Believe what you will, but trust me, Derek Hale is afraid of something, and it’s really not you.”

 

===============

 

Stiles wants to spy on Jackson and Lydia when Lydia marches over to Jackson’s room later that night but he refrains, partly because Lydia sweetly threatened to kick his balls and because Scott started panicking about his date with Kira.

It’s bros before spying on the BFF, obviously, and by the time Scott has fallen asleep on Stiles’ bed courtesy of a bunch of painkillers and sweet dreams of Kira, Stiles is actually quite bored.

He should be exhausted after the big game but the conversation with Lydia has riled him up more than it should have.

Derek’s sexual orientation is none of his business and whatever his deal is, he’s got no right to judge Stiles, case closed.

Besides, Derek, Matt, and Ennis have been subtler, lately, the former refraining from ugly remarks and the latter two simply ignoring his sugary friendly smiles and Stiles assumes that maybe Finstock had a talk with them after all.

He’s pretty sure they didn’t arrive at the conclusion that they should act like normal human beings by themselves.

Or maybe the negative press reaction has been getting to them, Stiles is pretty sure that at least Matt googles his name on a daily basis.

Whatever happened, he no longer feels like he has to watch his back with every move he makes and therefore any thought wasted on Derek Hale is brain capacity that he’ll never get back.

He lets Scott sleep and decides to go for a late-night walk in the hotel garden – he still can’t get over the fact that the hotel actually has a garden – and when he sees a comfortable looking bench he sinks down upon it, propping his head up on his crossed arms as he lies flat on his back and stares at the stars, enjoying the cool night air.

He could fall asleep like this – has fallen asleep outside on many occasions, in fact – and he’s debating whether he should go upstairs and kick Scott out of his bed when he can hear hushed voices that are drawing closer.

Stealth is not necessarily Stiles’ middle name but he manages to scramble off the bench and hide in the bushes just in time, because the hushed voices belong to Derek and Kate Argent and Stiles is kind of dying to know what they could be arguing about.

He holds his hand over his mouth when the two sit down on the exact same bench he was lying on moments earlier, taking in the way Derek is hunched over with his head buried in his hands and Kate’s slender fingers gripping onto his upper arm in what looks like a death-grip.

“It has to stop!” Kate hisses and Derek grunts, pulling at his hair in frustration.

“Nothing is happening Kate, I swear!” he whispers, sounding more broken than Stiles has ever heard him and Kate barks a laugh, cold and calculating.

“That’s what you said last time and look where that got us!”

Her fingernails are digging into Derek’s arm now and Stiles can see the angry red welts she leaves behind, wondering if he should make his presence known to stop her, because physical abuse is never ok, even if it’s happening to someone who is an abuser himself.

“That contract is huge, Derek, do you understand that? Huge! We can’t have you mess it all up again with another relapse!”

Derek’s head shoots towards her and Stiles is shocked to see tears on Derek’s stubbly cheek.

“I’m not _relapsing_!” he hisses, balling his fists on his thighs.

Kate looks at him coldly, one of her hands grabbing Derek’s chin and pulling it towards her roughly.

“Are you sure Derek? Are you really, absolutely sure?” she asks and then Stiles feels almost nauseous, because she yanks Derek’s face towards hers and starts kissing him, brutally, like a predator, while the other hand has dropped down to his crotch, doing things that Stiles never wanted to see or know about.

He has to bite his hand to keep himself still, wondering what he should do.

If Derek and Kate have a dating history he probably shouldn’t interfere, but Derek doesn’t look like he’s enjoying himself at all, because there are more tears leaking out of his eyes now as he tries to bat Kate’s hand away.

Stiles is just about to charge out of the bushes when Kate finally lets go of Derek, looking at his crotch with a displeased expression.

“You’re relapsing, I knew it,” she states coldly and Derek makes an almost terrified noise as he covers his lap, hiding … nothing, really, since there’s no erection whatsoever from what Stiles can tell.

“You’re lucky that I thought to bring the ETD, I had a hunch we might need it,” Kate says and Derek flinches, hugging his arms as he stares at her with a pleading expression.

“I can’t, Kate … please, I … you know that makes me confused for days afterwards and messes me up on the field, I can’t risk it, I …”

“Your next game is in eight days, I’m sure the effects will have worn off by then. You _need_ this, Derek, I’m not having a repeat of what happened with Jordan Parrish three years ago, do you understand me?”

At the mention of Parrish’s name Derek seems to completely deflate, his expression resigned as he looks at Kate.

“Kate … _please_!” he whispers, but Kate grabs his arms and drags him up, manhandling him like a small child.

“Shut up Derek – if you could just pull yourself together _for once_ we wouldn’t have to do this again and again, this is _your_ fault and you need to take the responsibility for your actions. Remember what happened to your family, it is your duty to fight this, once and for all!”

Stiles hardly dares to breathe until they are out of sight and when he climbs out of the bushes he is shaking all over.

He feels guilty for letting Kate assault Derek like that, when he was clearly in the position to interfere.

He’s worried because he has no idea what an ETD is, only knows that Derek is clearly terrified of it and that it obviously has physical side effects.

He’s also extremely confused, because he didn’t know that Derek apparently has an addiction, wondering how he was able to hide that from the team physicians who screened all of them very carefully before they were allowed to join the national team.

As for Jordan Parrish … he’ll definitely have to ask Scott and Lydia on that one, because all he remembers is that Parrish was Derek’s bodyguard for a while, back when the press first began to feature Derek as the star of underwear-model spreads in magazines and he started getting fan-attention on the streets.

They were attached at the hip for almost a year, some players were actually joking about it – until Parrish was gone one day and Derek refused to even talk about him.

Stiles had always liked Parrish, had especially liked the way he made Derek more humble and laid-back when he was around, and he regretted seeing him go over what was apparently a fight, because Derek’s sour attitude certainly indicated that something rather unsavory had happened.

Maybe Parrish was Derek’s dealer?

It’s not his business, not at all, but if Derek’s an addict and his addiction is about to mess up their chances on the field Stiles feels it’s pretty much his mission to figure out what it is.

Besides, he never could resist following in his dad’s footsteps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still debating how far I want the US team to advance in this story, since that kind of influences how I'm going to structure the next chapters, so what do you guys think? Should I let them lose their Round of 16 game and stay 'canon' or should they advance to the Quarter-Finals for dramatic purposes? 
> 
> Also, a word about that interaction on the bench: Derek and Kate have an extremely messed up past and more of that will be revealed in the next chapter and Stiles will continue to feel guilty because he didn't interfere, especially because he knows that he should have.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine Rod Stewart's "Faith of the Heart" as I say "It's been a long time" and please accept my apologies for this really, really, really long break in posting this next chapter.
> 
> I've been somewhat writer's blocked on this one but we are definitely back on track now. 
> 
> A word of WARNING: as hinted on in the last chapter, this fic is getting a bit darker and while I am only touching upon the ex-gay movement and the methods (torture would be more apt, really) they use in this chapter, there will be more of that in the next one or two chapters. If that's not what you were expecting, my feelings won't be hurt if you decide to stop reading, but if you are willing to continue with this story (despite this really, really, really long break that I'm feeling kind of bad about, obviously), all the kudos to you!

 

Because their next game is in eight days Finstock allows the team a day of rest, actual, honest-to-god rest and Stiles is basically regretting every bad word he’s ever said about the man.

He’s obviously not a crazy, popular-culture obsessed maniac headed towards diabetes, but a heaven-sent among trainers, a compassionate, caring, fluffy cloud of comfort raining down upon Stiles and caressing him in soft whispers.

Of course it’s not comfort that’s raining down on him right now but crumbs of an unidentified pastry as Finstock keeps yelling at him for sabotaging Jackson’s fitness on the field by introducing him to Lydia.

It’s a little annoying, partly because of the sticky pastry crumbs that are plastered to his cheek and partly because he hasn’t even gotten a chance to talk to Lydia yet and it seems kind of unfair that his coach knows more about what happened during the night than he does – Stiles’ money is on Greenberg, the little snitch – but at the same time he also feels accomplished.

A happy Lydia usually means good things for Stiles as well, especially if he contributed to her happiness.

He’s rescued by Scott and his nutella-croissant, who plops down onto the seat next to him with a little grimace and blinks in confusion when the angry tirade spewing from Finstock’s mouth stops just around the same time that Scott’s breakfast is confiscated on the grounds of its caloric danger to his fitness.

“Dude … I can barely walk as it is, why did he have to go and steal my breakfast!” Scott laments and because Stiles is the best buddy he gets up with a grin, heading towards the buffet table to retrieve the most buttery, delicious croissant he can find.

He’s just about to reach for the last croissant on the platter when strong fingers grab it from the side, only to drop it when a tremor runs through the man’s hand.

Stiles’ smile freezes on his lips when he turns to confront the croissant thief and comes face to face with Derek.

A Derek who looks absolutely horrible, with dark shadows under his red-rimmed eyes and a pained grimace on his face.

“Dude, it’s not for me, it’s for Scott, so … do you think you can live with letting me have the last croissant?” Stiles asks, challenging tone wavering just a little as another tremor runs through Derek’s body.

Stiles’ suspicion that Derek is on some sort of drugs immediately grows exponentially, though he can barely keep himself from snarling at the team captain.

He knows Derek doesn’t always make the best choices, but this is a level of stupid that’s surpassed even the most lenient of stupidity scales and is heading towards rocky mountain height stupid.

Derek doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t make another grab for the croissant either, though Stiles is pretty certain that probably has to do with the fact that he’s currently using both shaking hands to keep his empty plate from falling to the ground.

“Jeez, what are you _on_ ,” he mutters, more to himself than to Derek and his eyes snap open when Derek is suddenly standing inches in front of him, close enough for Stiles to see a burst blood vessel in his right eye, which is also twitching like crazy.

“What did you just say?” Derek grits out and Stiles is suddenly aware that the entire breakfast hall has fallen silent, as members of the team and the staff are staring at them with trepidation.

Derek seems to notice as well because he takes a step back, expression more hostile than ever as he glares at Stiles.

“Nothing’s _wrong with me_!” Derek grits out and before Stiles can answer – and boy does he have an answer to that because, red-rimmed eyes, tremors, and exhaustion or not, that was the understatement of the century right there – Kate Argent is suddenly standing between him and Derek, her hands placed on his chest as she gently steers the man backwards.

“Not now Derek, darling,” she says sharply and when Derek closes his eyes in what suspiciously looks like defeat Stiles gets an unsavory taste in his mouth, mind flashing back to the display of non-consensual molestation he saw on the bench last night.

Kate Argent is not even supposed to be here in the first place, none of their advisors are allowed to be here, technically, since Coach believes that players should be concentrating on the game and not on potential advertising deals or transfers during a World Cup.

Then again, she _is_ Kate Argent and with all the connections her family has back home Stiles isn’t even the least bit surprised that Finstock didn’t put up much of a fight when she booked herself into the hotel.

The chatter in the room slowly picks back up as Kate steers Derek out into the hall and Stiles picks up the croissant with a heavy sigh.

His sympathy for Derek is limited at best, but he’s pretty damn sure that whatever is wrong with Derek is courtesy of Kate Argent and regardless of his personal shortcomings, Derek _is_ one of their best players … without Derek on the field they might as well pack up and fly home right now.

With these thoughts in mind Stiles marches back to their breakfast table, where he ignores Finstock’s accusatory glare as he cuts the croissant in half, slathers both with butter and then holds one half out to Scott.

“Empty calories, evil, despicable, empty calories,” Finstock grumbles, though Stiles really can’t take him too seriously when he looks at the little nutella beard above his beloved coach’s upper lip.

He’s not sure if he should say something or not, he really isn’t – accusing someone of doing drugs is a very big deal in professional sports and Derek already hates him enough as it is, but whatever is going on, he’s pretty sure that Kate Argent’s continued presence is only going to make it worse.

He also can’t forget the haunted look in Derek’s eyes and granted, the minute he retires from the national team Stiles will never voluntarily breathe the same air as him again, but if that look had been on Scott’s face … yes, he definitely has to do something.

“So … Coach,” he begins, going for his most serious tone and raising an eyebrow when Finstock groans.

“Don’t tell me you went on Twitter again last night Stilinski, or so help me Pelé, I _will_ tie all of your fingers together and buy you a muzzle for good measure!“

Stiles blinks.

“You wound me Coach! Always thinking the worst of me, that’s a really big blow to my self-esteem, you know? I’m staying clear of all social media, I promise, it’s just that …”

“That?” Coach prompts, his cheeks bulging with four stripes of bacon at once and Stiles winces just a little – he’s getting tired of being the reason for Finstock’s stress-eating urges.

Stiles rubs his hand across his cheek, weighing his options.

He still can’t pinpoint exactly why he wants Kate Argent to go away as far as possible, but the more he thinks about it the more uncomfortable the very thought of her makes him.

Therefore, he can either hint that she might be a bad influence on Derek, or he can accuse of her of threatening him, since he’s quite sure that his Coach won’t take kindly to threatening of any kind.

The thing is, though, if he mentions Derek, Finstock is going to start paying extra attention to him and it won’t take him long to notice how strung-out he looks today; and there is just no way that can end well for their chances in the tournament, no matter how much Stiles would love for Derek to get kicked out of the team right this moment.

“It’s just that … I … I feel uncomfortable with having Kate Argent around,” he finally says and Finstock’s eyebrows rise high on his forehead.

Before he can ask why, Stiles already pushes on, hoping that he’ll sound convincing.

“You know her family’s politics, right? I just … I really don’t feel comfortable with having a known homophobe hovering over my shoulder who’d probably bribe my Congressman to push for a law that makes me living my sexuality illegal again, you know? I mean, obviously she is entitled to her own opinion but with the situation being as charged as it is I am really concerned about my …. yes, about my safety and I was wondering if …”

Finstock holds up his hand, looking almost pained.

“No.”

“But Coach, you don’t even know what I was going to …”

“No. Stilinski … Stiles … I’m sorry, but the answer is no. To anything that involves an Argent, really. Unless it’s the Argent who’s asking. Then the answer is always ‘yes’. I’m sorry.”

Stiles feels himself get angry, not at his coach but at this sudden feeling of helplessness. He didn’t even get to finish his sentence and his anger is obviously showing on his face, because Finstock sighs, giving him a compassionate look.

“I wish there was something I could do, trust me, I really do, but some of these things are … just not in my control Stilinski. Trust me, I wish they were,” he says, voice uncharacteristically soft and for a moment Stiles wonders just how much money is involved in the background and just how influential the Argents actually are.

It’s a thought that scares the living daylights out of him and he doesn’t dwell on it for too long.

 

====================

 

Instead of enjoying his day off Stiles spends his time worrying about Scott, who’s trying to hide how much pain he is in and failing miserably, and coming up with increasingly paranoid scenarios that could explain why Derek moved like an old man this morning and looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

Granted, he doesn’t really have experience with drugs but he can’t really think of any that would cause a person to constantly twitch as if he or she were being shocked with a taser.

That last thought nags at him all day and he’s about ready to fall into bed when he suddenly remembers what Kate said the other night.

Two minutes later his back is propped against his pillows, his laptop perched on his lap while he searches for what ETD could possibly stand for. Wikipedia proves rather unhelpful – he’s reasonably sure Kate Argent neither threatened Derek with the Abu Dhabi based airline Etihad Airways, nor talked about Eustachian Tube Dysfunction or the pop song “Evacuate the Dancefloor”.

Now that he’s thinking about it, Stiles actually isn’t quite sure if Kate really said ETD or if he maybe just misheard (which, again, would make more sense than the Abu Dhabi airline) and so he starts typing in different combinations, his eyes slowly getting heavier as he’s trying to stay awake.

Stiles has just about given up when he randomly clicks on a link and his heart stops for a second.

He’s wide-awake instantly, his expression frozen as he stares at the result for ECT: Electroconvulsive Therapy.

It makes _much_ more sense than airlines or German electro-pop dance songs, that’s for sure, and for a moment Stiles actually feels horrible about invading Derek’s privacy as he starts searching for possible reasons why someone would use ECT on another person.

He’s been around people with serious depressions – it’s somewhat of a taboo topic in professional sports that he really wishes would become less stigmatized – but he’s never gotten a depressed or suicidal vibe from Derek.

Not that that means much, really, people can be extremely creative when it comes to hiding how they truly feel from others after all, but his gut instincts are telling him that this is not the reason and so he keeps reading, wondering if he’s ever seen anything about ECT on television to help point him in the right direction.

Almost as soon as he finishes the thought he knows the answer, his mind flashing back to the weekend when Scott forced him to marathon _American Horror Story_ with him.

Stiles still firmly believes that the title is a total misnomer and that _American Sex Story_ would be much more appropriate, since that’s what it always seems to come down to in the end, but as he tries to remember the many reasons people were ECT’ed in _Asylum_ his blood once again runs cold.

Any kind of sexual ‘deviance’, really, and now that he’s thinking about it Stiles vividly remembers a heated discussion he once had with some idiot in class about gay conversion therapy, back when there was yet another huge scandal surrounding the ex-gay movement.

He’s called Lydia before even realizes what time it is.

“I trust you have an excellent reason?” is the somewhat muffled but nevertheless testy greeting and Stiles winces when the clock on his laptop informs him that it is, in fact, almost 2 in the morning.

“Do you remember that thing you said about Derek being bi-curious or maybe bisexual? That I didn’t believe at all because I’ve never gotten that kind of vibe from him? Turns out you were totally right and I couldn’t actually get a vibe from him because the Argents have been using electroconvulsive therapy on him to suppress these vibes and apparently that doesn’t always work because he needs it again now, just like that time with Parrish and now that I’m talking I’m actually realizing what that means and I think I am going to freak out because …”

“I’m coming over right now!”

Lydia hangs up on him and Stiles barely has a moment to run his shaking hands across his face before someone pounds on his door.

Stiles doesn’t even question the fact that she’s a) still at the hotel and b) dressed in something that looks suspiciously like Jackson’s jersey.

“Start from the beginning, but slower this time,” she orders and for a moment Stiles really wishes he had taken his Adderall today, because he’s still in shock over his discovery, his mind going every place at one (for example, pondering the question how Lydia can have perfect hair when he obviously just called her out of Jackson’s bed, who, Stiles has known ever since an ill-fated evening of truth or dare back when they were all first getting to know each other, kind of has a thing for pulling hair).

Lydia snaps her fingers in front of his face, impatiently, and he forces himself to concentrate, scooting over on the bed to allow her to sit down next to him.

“I’m probably jumping to conclusions here …” he begins, ignoring Lydia’s muttered “Leaping would be a better term,” rubbing his hand over his eyes with a resigned sigh.

“I overheard something the other night. Something I probably shouldn’t have overheard – about Derek,” he continues, taking a deep breath before he tells Lydia everything, from the overheard conversation on the bench to Derek’s horrible appearance this morning and ending with his bout of late-night-research.

Lydia’s face is grim when he’s done, has been ever since he described the way Kate molested Derek on that bench and when she speaks next her voice is sharp.

“It’s not drugs,” she says determinedly and Stiles nods miserably, though, if he’s completely honest with himself, he’s been wishing for her to tell him “Don’t be a doofus, Derek is just trying to hit every single playboy stereotype before turning 30,” ever since he connected his team captain’s shaking hands to the electroshock device.

“Do you remember when I did that internship at the DA’s office during my undergrad?” she asks and Stiles nods, a little confused as to where she is going with that.

Lydia nods, her expression almost pained now.

“Towards the end of my time there I overheard my boss talking to someone on the phone one evening. I think he thought I had left already because he was basically yelling at the person on the other end. I didn’t catch all of it, but he mentioned the Argents and the ex-gay movement multiple times. I tried to search online, of course, but all I found were rumors about Gerard Argent possibly having endorsed one or two of those ‘therapy’ institutions. Nothing was ever confirmed though and when my boss came out of his office he gave me a really hard look so I knew better than to ask him. It never came to anything, obviously, but given their involvement with all these right-wing organizations and the fact that they only ever set players they are advising up with commercial deals with known conservative companies, I wouldn’t be surprised if that rumor about Gerard is true.”

Stiles shakes his head, his blood once again boiling.

“Endorsing a gay-conversion therapy institution is one thing, actually _torturing_ someone with electricity is …”

“It’s barbaric,” Lydia interrupts him, her hand coming to rest on his right leg, which, he realizes with a start, has been shaking uncontrollably.

“Are we really sure that is what happened, though? Can’t it be something else? Something more humane, something more … _sane_?” Stiles almost pleads with her and Lydia gives him a sad look.

“Remember how I never took your advances towards me seriously because I knew from the moment I met you that you would have liked me much more if I had been a guy?” she asks him and Stiles shrugs because yeah, Lydia Martin’s gaydar is not only legendary but also makes her an excellent wing-woman.

“I know you said that you are getting a bi-curious or at least bisexual vibe from Derek, but …”

Lydia’s grip on his leg tightens.

“I might not have a 100 percent read on _Derek_ , but I do know Jordan Parrish. Quite well, actually, we met at that one charity event that you dragged me to as your beard-date, remember, and we really hit it off. It took me about five seconds to figure out he was gay and I remember being surprised that the Argents had hired him in the first place. The point is, however, that even though he never did tell me why he got fired – I am pretty sure he had to sign a confidentiality clause or something – I could feel that it had something to do with the Argent’s politics, even though he never quite called them homophobic. What I do know for sure, however, is that he’s definitely not doing drugs or dealing them and if the reason for his dismissal was directly related to his _relationship_ with Derek then …”

She trails off and Stiles closes his eyes briefly.

When he opens them again his expression is miserable.

“Why do I even care Lydia? This doesn’t excuse Derek’s behavior towards me, in a way it would make it even worse if he were gay or bisexual himself, but I just … how can I possibly stay silent about this? It’s the principle of the matter, no matter who is involved!” he rushes out, pulling at his hair in frustration and Lydia firmly holds onto his hands, her eyes sad.

“It doesn’t excuse his behavior, you are right, but it definitely does explain it. If he’s been conditioned to be disgusted by the mere thought of homosexuality, which, if I remember correctly, was the go-to method of that one institution that Argent supposedly endorsed a couple of years ago, then he doesn’t really have a choice at the moment. If anything, he’s probably struggling with himself right now, I’m assuming Kate wouldn’t have risked the entire team’s chances on the field by accidentally injuring him if she hadn’t seen an actual ‘threat’ because of you … oh don’t give me that look, you know that’s how they see it.”

Stiles sighs loudly, his expression grim but determined.

“We need proof though, undeniable proof! I mean, we can’t threaten her with legal action, if he consented to the ECT then there’s nothing we can do. Not that what I saw looked like consent in any way, shape, or form, but good luck getting a jury to believe me on that one when my opponent is the entire Argent clan!”

He slaps a hand on his thigh in frustration and Lydia nods.

“You are right, we won’t be able to prove it. What we can do, however, is expose the Argents for the hate-mongers they really are. Your outing could actually help us in the long run here, after all, you are the media’s darling at the moment, no doubt about it – and don’t even get me started on Tumblr and Twitter. Homophobia might still be socially acceptable in some circles, but the public is increasingly unwilling to turn a blind eye to the harm that’s being done to you and others … the news that Derek Hale has essentially been tortured to suppress his sexuality for years will not go over well!”

She twirls a lock of her hair absentmindedly, her face a clear indication that her mind is running way over the speed limit at the moment.

“We won’t be able to do it alone though, we need help, someone who knows the Argents and will be able to recognize the signs if Kate truly _is_ emotionally and physically abusing Derek.”

Stiles flinches at the word ‘abuse’, his stomach clenching in outrage over the fact that they could actually be right. Derek’s behavior towards him has been inexcusable and he’s not sure if he can ever forgive the man, but enduring physical and mental abuse to ‘shock’ a person’s sexuality out of him is something that Stiles wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

He can’t even _imagine_ what it must be like to constantly be afraid of yourself, to constantly be disgusted by yourself, to always have to wonder if that hidden part will suddenly emerge and ruin your life.

And if that’s how Derek has been trained to view his sexuality then, well, Stiles is going to help him.

If not for the man himself then at least for the team and for his own peace of mind.

“Jordan Parrish?” he asks out loud and Lydia nods.

“He might not be able to speak about it publicly, but trust me, he won’t turn down a chance to get even with those people.”

Stiles nods, then winces.

“How are we supposed to get him to the hotel, though? I mean, Coach made it pretty clear this morning that the Argents are in charge of pretty much everything around here, apparently, Kate will throw a shit-fit if she sees Jordan Parrish running around,” he says, his eyebrows rising when Lydia grins darkly.

“Don’t worry about that … I actually have an idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upcoming in this story we will have the entrance of Jordan Parrish, who does a walk down a painful memory lane with Stiles and Lydia and we'll have the Belgium-USA game, where I might just take some creative license on the outcome.


End file.
